A warm bath, a warm day.
Mac felt quite fuzzy. The relaxing bath made him feel so... strange. While the boxer regularly did not take baths, he just felt like taking it as another way to celebrate his success in entering the Smash Brothers tournaments. And yes, it took him several hours of nervous waiting before he blew up into a happy laugh.
Soon, he would be contending in an entirely different league of gentlemen and ladies. The boxer let his consciousness go faint, as he simply stared off at a wall in front of him. Steam puffed up, and the room became moist.
He had to admit, applying some of the strange soap placed in the bathroom into the bathwater made things feel heavenly. Fortunately for Mac, he had no intentions on passing out any sooner.
Unfortunately for Mac, the instant moment he thought of not passing out, his bath time ended when something outside of the bathroom crashed. Alarmed, the lightweight boxing champion flew out of the tub, opening the door with lightning speed before dashing over to the source of the noise. It took him a while to actually find the source, but to his comfort, the source revealed itself quite quickly.
Robin stared at Little Mac, Lucina by his side. He had accidentally collapsed when Lucina smacked his back for mentioning something weird about her father, Chrom. All of that quickly became irrelevant, however, as the white-haired tactician immediately froze very still.
Lucina, however, did not take the situation well.
"W...W-W-W-...!"
Mac thought to himself, How could I explain this? For he knew that there was definitely a solution that could solve the turmoil he literally flew into. The soap covering his body proved to be one of the greatest censorship tools he had unintentionally used to cover up his body. Alas, not everything lasted forever. He needed to hurry up before all of the soap flew away to nothingness.
The lightweight boxing champion had a lightbulb above his head brighten. Pointing at both Robin and Lucina, the boxer straightforwardly ordered them,
"Get in or get out."
"..."
"..."
Whether she used instant teleportation or some sort of shunpo move to turn around instantly, no one knew, but the blue-haired woman ran away as fast as she could, holding onto a very resistant Robin's hand.
As Robin flailed around Lucina screaming about something, Mac simply stared at the retreating pair. As soon as they vanished from his sight, Mac looked at the present box Robin dropped. Walking over to the box, Mac noticed several words etched on a label pasted on the present box.
To: Sir Macintosh
Humbly From: Robin
The boxer blinked before unwrapping the present box, only to find a brand-new Chess set hiding underneath the wrapper.
"..."
A small grin formed on his face.
Little Mac put on his pink hoodie, which had been washed once more.
Morning arrived as slowly as counting up to one thousand sheep could take, and Mac found himself jogging outside again.
As of recent days, he noticed that Doc Louis did not show up that often, which forced Mac to deal with a life without the coach for a bit. He knew that Doc still remained both a healthy and chocolate-consuming man. Like anyone else, Doc was a man who had his own business to attend to. Though the big and retired heavyweight champion did not have the same blood Mac had, the lightweight boxing champion treated him like he would have to his father. And from what he knew about himself, Mac loved his family very much.
He did not meet Doc when he first began to box, but he did meet him when he thought about taking boxing a little more seriously. Mac never expected himself to actually go for a long-lasting career that would wipe the floors of the World Video Boxing Association, only to get knocked out of the ring and punch his way back to it. In a sense, he had written a tale that felt far more realistic than many other "rise-to-the-top" stories.
Mac used to fall behind so many boxers with the same goal of rising as the champion in the WVBA, but he accomplished something many others found hard to commit themselves to. He was short, unfit, and had a body not ideal for boxing at all.
He never really gave up, though. And he turned all of his negative qualities into things that pressured him into getting better and better. Perfection did not exist, but the higher he aimed for it, the stronger he became.
Doc Louis showed him just that.
Mac jogged down the streets of the nearby city filled with various species. He, however, did not expect for a little mushroom child to suddenly pop out of nowhere with a notepad in his hands.
"This is so cool!" The small and strangely anthropomorphic mushroom child exclaimed. "You're the 'Neon Vigilante,' right? Can I have your autograph?!"
Uh; no, dude, Mac wanted to say. I never thought about making "Neon Vigilante" my debut title; I'm not Spiderman.
Much to his surprise, another voice- this one more feminine than the child's- exclaimed out of amazement,
"It's him! The Neon Vigilante!"
I really don't even- ...Why did they even put "Vigilante" next to my name? It's not like I'm wanted by the cops or anything.
...Right?
Mac became paranoid for a split second and looked around. The only things he saw were buildings, excited people, and a whole lot of hype rising in the air.
Uh oh.
The man in the pink jumpsuit found himself standing still in a sea of various species. Though Mac had no idea on what was going on, he had a feeling that it was something related to what he did to the weird, hostile alien creatures back when he visited the bank. With that in mind, the boxer looked around, attempting to find a good route to bail out of.
"Is it true? Is it true that you're going to be contending in the Smash Brothers tournaments?"
"Where do you come from?"
"Do you like aliens? I hope you like aliens! PLEASE LIKE ALIENS, MYSTERIOUS HOODED PERSON!"
"NOTICE ME, PINK HOOD!"
"Ah! He looked at me!"
"Holy crap, these are the times when I need to charge my phone more oft-"
"NOTICE ME!"
Mac inwardly screamed hopelessly, beginning to get confused by the entire situation. Before he punched his way out of the crowd, however, a hand shot out of the crowd, grabbing his arm before pulling it. The boxer felt himself getting pulled out of the sea of bodies, and soon, he felt nothing but the hand grabbing him.
Fresh air sure felt good, especially after a bunch of people tried to snap pictures and touch his hoodie for unspecified reasons that Mac did not want to think about.
Shaking his head to snap himself back to reality, the boxer looked up, his hood slightly covering his eyes. The person who pulled him out of the crowd had a blue jumpsuit on. She had small strands of blonde hair slightly sticking out of the hood placed over her head. The hood covered a fair portion of her facial features like Mac's.
After the woman let go, she fully turned to him and quietly uttered,
"Don't do that again."
"...?"
Mac blinked quizzically, wondering what he did wrong.
"There are... routes you could take if you're just going out for a jog," the woman said, her tone sounding somewhat systematical. "I have seen you jog into crowded places that we contestants should not take for the sake of saving time. Unless you want to get surrounded by swarms of fans every day, you should take routes that go around the central area of the city."
The boxer turned when she pointed at a certain building that stood next to a large sea of water.
"Heading towards that building usually decreases the chance of getting spotted," she said with a stoic look.
It took him several seconds to absorb the information. As soon as he fully comprehended the horror of getting caught in a swarm of screaming fans every day, however, the boxer nodded.
The two hoodie-wearing people stood still. Both of them were accustomed to silence, so unlike the times when Mac remained silent next to Peach, the silence felt natural. Mac turned back to the generous woman that popped out of nowhere and gave her a small wave with one hand.
He then turned away from her, jogging back to the mansion.
The woman known as Samus Aran still found the boxer to be a mysterious individual.
Right when Mac entered the mansion, he found a strange man standing right in front of the entrance. The man donned a blue pilot suit, a sturdy-looking shoulder pad, bright golden boots, flashy yellow gloves, and a red helmet with a black visor covering his eyes. The eyes appeared to look almost comic-like, as they were shaped like two bright triangles that glowed on the black visor.
"Hello there, Little Mac!" The pilot(?) said with a grin. "Sorry for not introducing you to the mansion earlier; that's actually supposed to be my job, but as of recently, I had to punch this guy out of the window so many times, I forgot about it."
...So he's the one who did that? Mac thought as he remembered a traumatizing first-hand experience of watching a Falcon Punch blowing a man out of the mansion. That stuff hit Mac's nervousness harder than an IMAX theater ever would.
The tall, muscular man swiftly raised a hand by his heart, his grin turning into a full-blown smile.
"I am Captain Falcon! F-Zero champion, long and going. And though my motto is 'I am number one,' I actually don't treat good people to ego-filled lectures on why I follow by such a motto in the first place."
Mac nodded.
"I've actually been looking for you because I wanted to inform you of some stuff before your first friendly match!"
"...?"
At this, Mac tilted his head. Perhaps he needed to learn how to use a computer soon.
"Oh, don't worry," Captain Falcon said, lifting his hand away from his chest as he made a carefree gesture, implying that the match itself was not extremely important. "The challenger happened to be someone other than Ganondorf or Bowser, so I figured it would actually be beneficial for you to test the waters of the Smash Brothers tournaments, y'know? By the way, don't trust Ganondorf on anything unless he's high on Triforce soliloquies. You really wouldn't want to get on his bad side if you don't want to get tired every day. ...Though, those soliloquies of his are admittedly hilarious..."
Mac felt like sighing out of relief, but instead, nodded quietly. He initially thought it was some groundbreaking information that would have rocked his world in a terrifying way.
Contrary to his imagination, Captain Falcon actually spoke in a pretty upbeat manner, which made listening to him rather enjoyable. It reminded him of Disco Kid... except the captain had way more "falcon" than "disco" up his sleeves.
"Anyway, you're gonna be fighting Lucario! Lucario is a pretty nasty fighter because he gets stronger if you damage him. Dunno about you, but that's something lots of people get super surprised about. I'm actually surprised you're fighting someone of his caliber on your first battle ever, but I guess it's because you're fit enough to beat him!"
"Thing is- oh shoot, I have to go soon...- when you fight Lucario, careful of his Aura-based attacks. If he charges up a ball of Aura and saves it up for later use, always prepare to dodge it in the most crucial of times."
With that said, the captain looked down on his glove, turning away from Mac as he activated some sort of hologram displaying the time before turning the device off.
"I gotta go; Ganondorf usually tries to steal all of the cookies in Ike's jar of sweets at this time around. See ya around, champ!"
For what felt like the fiftieth time, Mac nodded. As Captain Falcon literally jumped up to another floor, Mac finally walked into the mansion.
He felt like the protagonist of a typical JRPG, receiving information on NPCs that pop in to say something either interesting or noteworthy before going back to what they did.
A match with someone who gets stronger as they get weaker...
Super Macho Man? No; Super Macho Man was all about showiness and early knock-outs. All talk, little dignity. Bald Bull? Close, but Bald Bull actually did not get stronger by getting weaker. He only had the ability to maintain his strength while getting pummeled by punches not strong enough to knock him out for good.
Strange.
Then, Mac noticed something to consider.
He did not tell me when to battle with this Lucario person.
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"..."
Mac forced himself to think that everything he just listened to and thought of was no longer any of his business until the challenger itself appears before him. He hated to admit that he failed to ask absolutely important questions sometimes.
The WVBA champion entered the cafeteria, feeling hungry after a day of light training.
A day of hard work meant a good day to consume food. Mac lightly jogged his way into the place, his pink hoodie still over his head. Though he usually did not care about what he ate, the cafeteria actually made him consider on eating between two foods: hamburgers or sandwiches.
On one hand, the tasty hamburger seemed like a great choice for Mac. A classic taste that suited him quite well, Mac enjoyed the taste of mostly sweet sauce usually accompanying most hamburgers. It left behind a good after-taste, too.
Sandwiches, on the other hand, definitely left no memory-jolting after-tastes, but in return, provided fresh packs of food. As much as Doc Louis hated taking diets from chocolate, he once treated himself to a whole day eating vegetables by eating plentiful amounts of sandwiches. When Doc's movements actually became quicker after several more days of his sandwich diet, Mac felt inspired and proceeded to treat himself to consuming tons of sandwiches.
...Of course, there was a limit as to how many sandwiches Mac could take before the entire diet began to backfire on him, but he knew better than to think linearly. The point was that Mac fully knew that foods could affect one's performance in a battle. King Hippo could have taught as much, but the particular sandwich diet seemed to enforce that.
Mac stared at the two food menus before heading directly to the sandwiches.
Soon, the boxer found himself carrying a tray loaded with four sandwiches.
On his way to one of the empty tables, the boxer noticed a... particularly pale woman sitting in a disturbingly healthy sitting pose. She stared at him from afar as if to look into his soul. Deeming her to be threatening for his appetite, Mac quickly turned away and sat at a table, unaware of the fact that she tried to give him a thumbs-up for not falling for the Dark Side of enjoying delicacies.
The boxer sat down and began his lonely, yet strangely happy feast.
He chowed down the food with great speed, mostly due to how he wanted to immediately get back to jogging.
As he consumed his second sandwich, however, a familiar voice nearly made him drop his food and punch the nearest thing around him as hard as he could.
"So interesting! You eat with such speed, yet you never seem to stop to take a break while you're eating!"
Mac glared at Robin in a way that made the tactician laugh.
"Sorry about that! I just felt like I couldn't miss the chance, you see."
"..."
The boxer nodded, cautiously looking at Robin before chewing on his sandwiches.
"Soooooooooooooo, how about we have another Chess match tonight? You play Chess with strange strategies even I have not thought of before. I could certainly learn more from you, and perhaps, if I am good enough, I could teach you some of my own strategies!"
At this point, the lightweight boxing champion gave up on prying the white-haired man away from himself. Robin tried so hard to get on his good side, so neglecting his efforts made the Bruiser from the Bronx feel like a terrible person. The tactician just had some sort of innocence that made him feel easy to get along with, despite the fact that he was an acclaimed war hero. Everyone felt different from the typical human beings found on Earth.
Then again, there was a bounty hunter who could punch a burly man out of a mansion through brute force. And even Mac himself punched some random alien through the roof of a building, so who the heck was he to talk to?
Mac nodded at Robin, causing the white-haired man to smile brightly.
"Oh, and sorry about barging into your dorm when you were preoccupied. I wanted to deliver a message to you humbly, but... a friend of mine sort of smashed me into your room. Ah ha! Maybe to make up for you, I could make you a coconut pie-"
"BRUH."
The boxer jumped, turning to a voice that had gained infamy among many Smash contestants. Before him was Master Ha- no, a hand that looked like Master Hand. This hand, however, was shaped like that of a left hand rather than a right hand.
"I love my pies."
"...I did not see you there, Crazy Hand."
Twitching erratically, the left hand asked the lightweight boxing champion,
"You know what tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime it issssssssss?"
Mac shook his head.
Suddenly, the hand grabbed Mac with two of its fingers before shaking the boxer like crazy before screaming,
"IT'S SHAKEY SHAKEY SHAKEY TI-"
Needless to say, Mac instantly Star Punched the white glove off of him, bolting out of the cafeteria to save himself.
"..."
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"...You had that coming," Robin pointed out to the hand that now lay twitching on the ground. The psychotically hyperactive hand known as Crazy Hand continued to twitch.
"Worth."
Right after he responded to Robin, the hand suddenly rolled over the unfortunate tactician, moving straight out of the mansion to go find something else to bother. Crazy Hand enjoyed bothering everything around him, but had the attention span of a five-year old child that was introduced to Call of Duty at the age of three.
Another uneventful day passed just like that. The next day, Little Mac, the Bruiser from the Bronx, would finally go head-to-toe with a certain challenge he completely forgot about.
Intermission 1
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...c...a̴̡͓̺͉͓̮͉̲̳̟̠͖ͩ͛̈́ͬ̌̂̓̏͝ͅ.̊̓̇͑͑́͒̋̊͗̀̃̂̂̆̎̈́̓҉̧͉͎̲̰̤́.̡̞̣͓͈͍̔͗̿ͦͬ͂̑ͬ͛͗͛̃͢͠.̴̡̛̜̭̻̙͍͉̠̱͈͕̺͙̱͋ͯ͋ͫ̉ͮͫͩ̇̓̌̇͢ͅl͖̱͕̲̘̠͎ͯ̿͒̍ͪ̑̈̒ͨ͂̈̉͐ͯ̾ͭ̈͒͐͠.̸̥̬͕̦̭̣ͤ͗ͣ͂̃ͤ̐͒̌͛̊ͮ͜͠͠͠.̶̖̩̙̞̤͔̰̟̪͒̐ͣ̾̌̓͑̐̕͟.̵̞̪̮͔͂ͤ́͌ͨ͑̊̉͗ͧ̇̊̀̐ͩͮ̃̚͟͡l̸̴̪̟̩̪̟̞ͮ̇ͭ̀͢.̵̨̗͇̲̥̞̗̝̦̗̼͖̦̼̺̟̹͇̤ͬ̋ͤ͒͗͛ͣͣ̽̃.̓͐̑͊ͫ͊͏̵̢̛͉̼͕̭̹͖̲̙̗̭̭̙̀.̡́̍ͯ́̔ͧ̽͌̓̅҉̶̵̵̙̜̙̙͔͕͕̗̭̥͕̩̖
...P...l...e...s...
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.̢̢̧̧͖̰̭̖͎̺ͯ̂̿̽͌̀.̧̓͐ͬ̋́҉̘͙̬̳̝͙͍̲̣͈.̵̡͚̠̞̱̦̘̙̹̻̖̔ͬͤ͌̓̔̓̔̈́̓ͯ̉̓͆̇̐ͯ͒ͅP̘̞̰͔̝͍̦͚̦̙͔͍ͩ͑ͣ̋̃ͪ̆͊͑ͨ̂̄͒ͯͪͥ́ͪ̂͡͡.̢̛̟̪̲͉̹̹̱̦̜̺͍̮̄͋̇ͮ̈́͋̍͂̋ͨ̐̓̌͌́͠.̶̛̛̛͙̥̟̝͋͌ͭͦ̀̔̓ͩͭ̽̏ͨ̌ͤ̎ͮ̐.̡̧͉̣̩̩̹̤̮̺́̋ͣ̍̐ͪ̈ͦ̒̽ĺ̢̤̺̙͚̰͈̜͊̏̿ͥͥ͊͝.̷̨̭͖͔̬̮͚̮̰̲̬̹͛̄͋ͨ̑̑̾͛ͩ̈̎̂ͭ͊̈ͫ́̀͘.̢̈́̏̌ͪ̒̎̀͠҉̼̫̯̱̲̞̟͍̫͎̰.̓̾̂ͯ̌ͬ̚͏̣͉̜̻͖̹̖̟̪̤̖̩͝ë͇͉͇͖̞̞͂͊͌̊ͨͨ̍̀̓̌̽̒̃̆̓̀̚̚͘͜.̃̂́̄̆ͨ̃͋̿ͪ̓͒̚͏̢̛̛͚̰̳̗̖͙̮͓͚̮̙̱̗͢ͅ.̨͇̦̲̳̟̘̯̳͚̜ͯ̽ͩ̐̽̏͋̎ͥ͋ͧ̌̃̏͘.̴̡͈̞͚͓̪̼̥͖̱̝̟̯̩̰̥̝͗͐ͩ͑̂̾́̏͆ͫâ̶̄̓̒̓̎ͥ̎̀ͧͥ̌͏̛͎̯͔̪̼̝̯̬͙͉̘̬͖̰̗̪̞.̷̧̨̡̮͈̥͈̺̤͈̖͓̙̞̮̦͇͔͈̖͚͌̉ͪ̽͊͂͂ͫͯ̏̾̿̄̽͂ͯ͡.̸̡̭͍͇͖̥ͣ͋̂͋̒ͦ̌̑̽̆̾̏̑͌͝.̴̢̛̥͚̟̤̻̞͖̦̣͈̪̱̹̪̇̐̒̄͆͐̍̀̐́̚͠s̶̛͍̦͓̤̞̯̠͈̣͎̼̔̒̄͑ͮ̌̿ͫ̚̕͘ͅ.̶̇̄̀͐ͮ̈̌̄͊ͦ͆ͯ͋͞҉̷̩̯͕͜ͅ.̓̊͆͌͗ͬ̄̊̎͗̓ͭͥ́ͣͪ҉̸̵͔͍̝̳.̡̛̛̮̝̹̲͙̙̤̞̪͉̞̥͇̦͚̣̃̄́͒̓̄̂ͯ̃ͨ͊͘ͅê̶̬̬̳̝̖̽ͤ͐͟͜.̷̵͚̘̫̗̠̯͙̥̞̭ͥͨ̿ͭ̀͘.̠̭̖͚̝͉̯͚̖̮̘̣̮̯̮̗̗͙͈̐̉̌͗ͦͤ̓͗́͞.̵̡̲͔͕͔͓͓̟̺̃̑͆̏̂̽̍ͬͮͤ̓̒̅ͨ̿ͦ̂
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